


Metanoia

by beautifuldistress



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Cheating, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Famous Harry, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, M/M, Single Parent Louis, Smut, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifuldistress/pseuds/beautifuldistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years after One Direction took an infinite break, Harry Styles is the fucked up, British version of Justin Timberlake and it’s been well over a decade since Louis Tomlinson was last seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. It isn't real and it doesn't reflect upon the real life people mentioned. No offence is intended.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It's just silly fun since apparently I have way too much free time in my hands.

 

_Saturday, 1 st of February 2031._

 

His thirty-seventh birthday was the first birthday Harry Styles had to spent without a phone call from his mum.

 

And that’s why on the night of his thirty-seventh birthday, Harry found himself laying in the bathtub of his penthouse apartment in New York City with a half empty bottle of overpriced wine braced against his jeans-clad thighs and a joint clenched tight between his lips. Droplets of ice-cold water were sluicing his hair and back, as he laid shivering in the foetal position. He was only vaguely aware of the tears running down his cheeks and onto his already wet YSL shirt. Instead, he was more focused on the sinking feeling in his chest, that almost unbearable pain in his heart that just wouldn’t go away.

 

On the eighth of January 2031, Anne Cox fell asleep and never woke up. “It was peaceful”, the doctor had said and he sounded more like a robot rather than a human being, “she had a tough battle fighting cancer but the end – the end; it was peaceful.” Harry had blinked at him. He knew there was nothing peaceful in dying. There couldn’t be – not when it was someone so young, so beautiful, and so full of life. Not when that someone was his mum.

 

Twenty-four days had passed since then. It had been twenty-four days since he had last seen her. Twenty-four whole days, and the distressing image of her lifeless body lying in the hospital bed was still fresh in his mind. No amount of money, drugs or alcohol seemed to help him forget. Harry reckoned it would haunt him forever. It frightened him.

 

It worried him too. He was so worried that he would forget her; that he would forget he voice, her smell, the way she laughed at all his silly jokes and just how comforting and tight her hugs were and would only remember how cold her cheek was when he kissed her goodbye before they lowered her coffin down.

 

Harry opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

 

He had read somewhere that there were five stages of grief. The first was numbness and denial; it was supposed to last for at least a few days to help with the initial mourning rituals. The second one was yearning and anger; anger and regret for all the things that were left unsaid and all the could have beens that never happened.

 

Apparently Harry seemed to have skipped straight to stage three: emotional despair, sadness and withdrawal.

 

He was devastated. It was almost like he didn’t know how to be alive without her. So he drunk too much and he smoked too much and cut off all communication with the outside world – to forget. To forget the pain, to forget how his mum would never call him again. That she would never wish him happy birthday ever again.

 

Everyone had their own way of dealing with the loss of a loved one – and as it seemed, fucking off across the pond and drowning his own sorrows was Harry’s.

 

After the funeral he turned off his phone and boarded the first plane he could find to New York City. He didn’t even let anyone know. It wasn’t like they would care anyway. The one person who would care, the one person who always cared and who was always there was gone. She was six feet under, at that dirty St Luke churchyard extension back in Holmes Chapel. Harry was still feeling bitter about that. His mum’s final resting place shouldn’t have been that grimy old place. He tried reasoning with both Robin and Gemma that his mum deserved better, that she was worth more but they were having none of it. “A burial in Holmes Chapel was what your mother wanted, and that’s what she is getting,” Robin had said with finality. Gemma bit her lower lip but didn’t say a word. Harry wasn’t particularly bothered. It had been well over a decade since the siblings had talked to each other, after all.

 

Closing his eyes, he took a big puff off the joint before spitting it out in front of him. He watched the remainder of his joint get soaked by the water as he waited for the seemingly unfamiliar feeling of euphoria to hit him. But it was all in vein. Even marijuana didn’t seem to affect him anymore. He exhaled deeply, letting out a noise that sounded something between a cry and a laugh. Not for the first time in his life, he wondered if he was slowly turning into a madman.

 

To be fair, he’d choose insanity over reality any day.

 

He made the same noise again. And again. And again. He clutched his stomach, his whole body shaking once again. But this time, because of laughter. He didn’t know how long he stayed there for; Harry was in his own little bubble, and time didn’t seem to exist there. He was doubled over in half with his shoulders touching his knees and laughing hysterically for no apparent reason. There was absolutely no rational explanation, not even a tiny one as to why he was laughing. But still, he was doubled over and he didn’t show any signs of stopping any time soon. He was laughing like he was the happiest man in the world when all he wanted to do was scream and cry. Exactly like a madman.

 

And then he stopped.

 

A piercing scream escaped his mouth. The empty bottle of wine collided harshly with the acrylic surface of the bottom of the bathtub, as he stood up abruptly and rushed to the toilet. He knelt down in front of it, hands clutching both of the sides of the toilet seat. And then there was blood, lots of blood and a new kind of pain – a physical one. An agonizing discomfort somewhere in his abdomen, in his throat. Everywhere.

 

He saw red, he saw black and then he saw nothing at all.

                           --------------------------------------------------------------

_Friday, 16 th of May 2031._

At seventeen years of age, shortly after signing his first ever singing contract, Harry Styles made a promise to himself – he promised he would never let himself be a Hollywood cliché.

 

He swore that fame would never change him. He was stronger, so much stronger than that. He would never be the next Britney Spears or Macaulay Culkin. He was better than that; he was so much better than that. And for a while, Harry believed he could do it. He had the whole world at his feet, he was living the ultimate dream along with four of the best people he knew and he was enjoying every single minute of it. They were young and hot, and had just the right amount of talent to make it big. The world loved them. All was well. Before they knew it they were the biggest band in the world, people compared them to the Beatles – the bloody Beatles – they played sold out pubs and arenas and stadiums. It was insane. But amidst all of the chaos, all the nasty rumours, and living that kind of life that only the rich and famous could live, Harry was still sure he would come out of it intact. He was certain that in the end he would still be the same Harry as he was before he could afford to wear shirts that cost the same price as Robin’s old car.

 

Oh how naïve and innocent and fucking stupid he was.

 

Twenty years later, at thirty-seven years of age, as Harry Styles was sitting on the stairs of the Promises Treatment Center waiting for his ride to arrive he knew that he couldn’t have been more wrong. It didn’t matter who you were or how strong you thought you were. At the end, Hollywood fucked everyone up. Once you were in, there was no escape. And Harry was in. He was deep in.

 

The bright Malibu sun was suddenly blocked by a shadow. Harry looked up in the brown eyes of no other than Jeffrey Azoff, his manager. “Alright Jeff?” one of the corners of Harry’s mouth had curled up just so. A lopsided smile. Hardly there – but still there.

 

“H,” the older man greeted. His expression was neutral, giving nothing away but there was an obvious sadness in his eyes. Jeff had grown fond of Harry from the first time he had met him. Harry used to be so charming back then, so humble and exceptionally nice. Harry Styles had a way of making everyone fall in love with him a bit. Jeff never stood a chance.

 

“I fucked up,” Harry stated “I fucked up big time, haven’t I?” At that moment, he didn’t seem like Harry Styles, the fucked up singer who just three months prior had an accidental overdose on drugs and alcohol that could have been fatal. He seemed so young, so vulnerable and he was looking at Jeff exactly like he used to when he was twenty – like Jeff had all the answers in the world.

 

“Oh, H. Come here, you big goof.” Jeff helped Harry up and wrapped his arms around him, engulfing him in an almost bone crashing hug. Harry felt himself relaxing for the first time in a long while, silent tears falling from his eyes. “You absolute tit,” Jeff whispered when the younger man released a tiny sob “you are gonna be fine, H. Just trust me. You’ll be okay.”

 

A few minutes passed by before Harry slowly pulled away. “Sorry Jeff, I got snort all over you shirt. Shit. I didn’t mean to.” He reached down for his duffle bag, opening up the smaller zips, in search of a tissue.

 

Jeff places a hand on his shoulder “It’s fine Harry. Don’t worry about it,” he bended down, next to Harry when the latter showed no signs of stopping his search. “Seriously H it’s fine. I had your vomit all over my hair before – I can handle a bit of snort,” he said as he reached for the duffle bag.

 

Harry’s cheeks turned a pink, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

 

“Let’s just go, shall we? I imagine you can’t wait to leave this place, eh? Must have gotten a bit dull after three months,” Jeff picked up the duffle bag, “come on.”

 

They both started walking towards Jeffrey’s black Audi. “Ninety days is a long time. Come to think about it I don’t think I’ve stayed in the same place for so long since I was sixteen,” he let out a bitter chuckle, “kind of sad, really.”

 

None of them said anything else as they climbed into the luxury car. Jeff started the engine and pulled out of the center’s parking lot and into the highway. The big, blue “Promises Treatment Center – begin your journey toward an extraordinary life” sign became smaller and smaller until it eventually disappeared.

 

God, Harry would definitely not miss that place.

 

“Just try your best, to never find yourself back there again,” Jeff sighed when the only response he got was silence “I’m saying this as your friend, Harry. Not as your manager. Just promise me. Promise you’ll try your hardest.”

 

Harry inhaled deeply, “I will try, Jeff. Trust me, if it’s up to me I’ll never, ever even visit a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center ever again. In fact, if my memory isn’t fooling me I never wanted to go to one in the first place.”

 

“You know I had no choice. No H, don’t interrupt me. You know fully well that I had no choice. If I had gone to your apartment an hour later – just an hour later than I had – you’d be fucking dead by now.”

 

“Did it ever cross your mind that maybe that’s what I was going for? Did you ever think that maybe – just maybe – I wanted to fucking die, Jeffrey?” Harry yelled and Jeff took a sharp breath, casting a short, worried glance towards the other man. “Shit, sorry. Sorry, J. I didn’t mean to say that. Thank you, again for coming – for saving me. I’ll be forever grateful you know that. Please tell me that you do.”

 

When the older man didn’t reply, Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall on the back of the passenger seat. He messed up – again.

 

He couldn’t even put himself in Jeff’s shoes. He couldn’t ever imagine going to one of his best mates’ house, a bottle of champagne with a little red bow on it in his hand, to celebrate his birthday. Yelling out his friend’s name, but getting no reply. Opening door after door, but not finding his best friend anywhere until he reached the en-suite bathroom of his mate’s bedroom. And then opening that door, just to find said mate unconscious on the floor, surrounded by his own blood and sick.

 

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry tried again, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, J.”

 

“I know you are, H. I know you are.”

 

“So, um what’s the plan now?” the curly haired man asked, trying to break the awkward silence.

 

“As I told you in my last letter, you have your first interview scheduled for tomorrow. I know it’s soon, but it needs to be done. The public, your fans are dying to know what’s happening with you – seeing as an official rep statement announcing that you decided to check yourself in rehab was all they got. And all those craze-assed media speculations are not helping at all.”

 

“That’s alright,” he said fidgeting with his hands, “at least it’s with James. He’s alright.” James Corden was one of the few people in the business that his mum used to adore. After all those years, they still kept in contact. Harry knew that much. Last Christmas, when his mum was too weak and tired to write all the Christmas cards by herself Harry offered to help. It wasn’t a surprise when he saw James’s name on the list. Him and Harry weren’t as closed at they used to be back in the day but then again Harry was the one who pushed him away. He was the one who had pushed everyone away.

 

“Yea we were lucky to score that one,” Jeff agreed, “it’s gonna be a live one, though just letting you know. Other than that you’ve got a free schedule until September.”

 

“Bu-”

 

“No buts Harry. You need to take some time off, to regain your strength. There’s no way I’m throwing you back out there so soon. You are gonna take these three months off and relax – maybe you can write some songs? If you wan to keep yourself busy that is. But you’ve got no other responsibilities over this time. Your media team and I will do our best to keep you on the news – not that it will be particularly hard. You are a household name, after all. But you deserve time off Harry – to find yourself, to get back on your feet. So, no buts.”

 

“Alright,” Harry threw his hands in the air, smiling a bit, “that’s alright, I guess. By the way, you don’t happen to have my phone do you?”

 

“Don’t worry. And yeah, as a matter of fact I do. It’s waiting for you at the house. Right by your bed.”

 

“Oh,” he mumbled. Realization striking him, as he glanced out of the window, at the familiar neighbourhood. “Um are we going to your house?”

 

“Yes. Glenne and I agreed you should stay here tonight. The kids are at my parents’ house so you can have your peace and quiet.”

 

“Oh wow. Cheers mate. Thanks.”

 

Jeff bit his lip. He was aware that what he was about to say would both upset and disturb Harry. “But I got you a plane ticket for Manchester, right after your interview tomorrow,” he finally said as he pulled into the driveway of his house.

 

Harry’s eyes widened at that. “Manchester? Why Manchester of all places?”

 

“Because you need to go home, H.”

 

“I am home.”

 

“No H. You need to go home home.”

 

                           --------------------------------------------------------------

 

In all fairness, Jeff had warned him.

 

They had been eating dinner – Harry had always adored Glenne’s sweet and sour chicken, even if she wouldn’t give him the recipe – when Jeff brought it up. “H, remember when I said your phone is in your room?” The younger man nodded, too busy eating his home cooked tea to speak. He wasn’t particularly bothered about his phone anyway. It had been turned off since early January, since the day of Anne’s funeral. “Well just do me a favour and avoid going on the Internet, yeah?”

 

“Sure, lad. No worries,” Harry mumbled before stuffing his mouth with food once again. Both Glenne and Jeff laughed at his expense.

 

Jeff brought it up again after Harry announced that he was absolutely knackered and was calling it a night. “Sleep tight H,” he said as Harry kissed Glenne goodnight on the forehead, “remember to stay off the Internet. Please.”

 

Harry had dismissed him with a wave. He wasn’t a child anymore; Jeff could give him some credit. He had enough self-control to keep himself off the Internet for a night. After all, he had been doing it for over four months now.

 

However, as he laid awake in his bed unable to fall asleep he found himself reaching over to his bedside table to grab his phone. It was just to tire himself out, he told himself. He would play a game so that he can get his mind off the interview tomorrow and then go to sleep.

 

Half an hour later, the thumb of his right hand was about to press the Twitter icon. It was quite like a scene stolen right off a children’s TV show – it seemed like there was an Angel Harry sitting on his left shoulder, yelling that it was a bad idea and that he should just go to sleep and a Devil Harry sitting on his right shoulder encouraging him to go right ahead and open the app.

 

“What’s the worst thing that can happen?” Devil Harry whispered, “everything they are saying, you’ve seen it before.”

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Angel Harry yelled, “put your phone away and go to sleep. Listen to Jeff. You have a long day ahead of you”.

 

Harry pressed the Twitter icon. Devil Harry won. He always did.

 

One of the pros of being a celebrity and therefore having that blue tick on his Twitter profile was that he always had two options – he could either choose to see his timeline, mentions or direct messages from everyone or just from other verified accounts. He clicked on his mentions from verified accounts.

 

Most of them were nice. Celebrities tended to be nicer to other celebrities. Online – that is. Most people were congratulating him on his decision to face his problems and seek help. He didn’t dare to scroll further down, though. He knew that before the congratulations tweets came the tweets that offered condolences about his mum’s passing. He didn’t need to see those now. Or ever. Thank you very much.

 

Next he clicked on his direct messages from verified accounts. And then his heart skipped a beat or two, or maybe a hundred. At that moment it was like the world had stopped turning and time stood still. It was just plain dramatic. Because right at the top was a message sent to him just forty-eight minutes ago from someone whom he never thought would hear from ever again: Louis Tomlinson.

 

Louis fucking Tomlinson had sent him a message. Shit.

 

It had been more than fifteen years since Harry had last talked to Louis. Fifteen whole years. Heck, it had been over fifteen years since Louis had tweeted something. Not that Harry was stalking him or anything but Louis’ last tweet was on 27th of January 2016. Twenty fucking sixteen.

 

Harry blinked. Once. Twice. Thirty times. But his eyes weren’t fooling him. Louis had really sent him a message. Fifty-four minutes ago. He took a deep breath in, before opening the conversation.

 

He had not one, not two, not three but four messages from Louis. _Four_.

 

**_“Hi, I heard about Anne. Fuck I’m so sorry, H. I’m so so sorry. She was a wonderful woman and she’s in a much better place now. Take care, H.”_ **

_(8 Jan 2031)_

**_“Hi again…I heard you checked into rehab today. Fuck, H. I had no idea you were struggling. No one did, apparently.”_ **

**_“But you’re so strong, so brave. I’m so proud. You’ll get better H. Hang in there. I believe in you. Good luck. Be strong, H!”_ **

_(8 Feb 2031)_

**_“Heard you got out of rehab today. I’m so proud of you, H. So very proud of you love.”_ **

_(16 May 2031)_

_Love_. Louis called him love.

 

Harry wanted to cry. He wanted to cry and he had absolutely no idea why. Although deep down, he had his suspicions. He wanted to cry because he missed Louis. He missed Louis more than anyone would ever know. He missed him more than he was supposed to miss someone who he hadn’t seen for over fifteen years.

 

But Harry was mad too. Louis had no right to contact Harry after fifteen years. How fucking dare him to text him after everything. After fifteen years of silences. Louis had made him cry so much, maybe too much. Harry loved the idea of hating Louis Tomlinson. Even though he knew that he could never hate the older man. But oh God, he would love to be able to hate him. He broke Harry’s heart. He shattered his heart into a million pieces and stole some of them.

 

He should hate him. He truly should. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t hate him after the first time they broke up, he couldn’t hate him after he came crying to him that he had cheated on him, he couldn’t hate him after he told him that the girl he cheated on him with was pregnant and he couldn’t hate him when he sent him a picture of his newborn son captioned with: “meet my little lad- Freddie. He’s pretty amazing, H.”

 

Fifteen and a bit years later, he still couldn’t hate him.

 

Fuck Louis Tomlinson. And fuck Harry as well – for loving Louis and for feeling just a tiny bit happy that the other lad had contacted him.

 

It took Harry about twenty minutes to finally type a response. He kept typing and backspacing – synthesizing and erasing. He didn’t want to seem too eager nor did he want to seem too insensitive. Finally, he settled on:

 

**_“Hey Louis. Thank you for your nice words about my mum. I’m better now, thank you. It means a lot. Hope you are well.”_ **

_(17 May 2031)_

Two minutes passed without a reply from Louis. Not that Harry was expecting one so soon. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own as they typed yet another message:

 

**_“It was good to hear from you. So good. How have you been?”_ **

_(17 May 2031)_

 

 

Harry put his phone on his naked chest and let out a small sigh of content. He was talking to Louis. _Louis_. He couldn’t believe it. Harry had come to terms with that fact that he was never gonna forget Louis Tomlinson a long time ago. They said you never forget your first true love and Harry was no exception to this. Not when he had shared so many firsts with Louis, so many memories. Louis would always have a piece – or a thousand pieces – of Harry’s shattered heart. But as much as he missed him, he never thought he’d ever get to speak to him again.

 

His phone vibrated on his chest and not for the first time that night, Harry’s heart skipped a beat – Louis had messaged him. Again. He grabbed his phone with shaky hands.

 

**_“H! So glad to hear you are doing better. I’m so proud of you. I’ve been good, been keeping a low profile, unlike you Mr. Superstar.”_ **

_(17 May 2031)_

 

Harry didn’t know why he had a smile on his face. He truly couldn’t understand how talking to Louis, how making small talk with Louis could put a smile, a real smile, on his face for the first time in months. Part of him wanted to be mad at the other lad, he had no right to come back to his life after so long but part of him wanted to welcome him right back with open arms and a ‘took you long enough fucker’. It was like his mind had forgotten that he had been pretending to despise Louis for fifteen years now. Harry wanted to keep talking to him – he never wanted to stop in the first place if he was being honest with himself. And Harry always wanted to be honest with himself.

 

There was a slight issue though – they had nothing to talk about. Harry was aware that rather sooner than later they’d run out of things to say. Once upon a time, Louis and Harry used to share everything. They used to never run out of conversation topics. But that was then. That was when they were together, when One Direction and “Larry”, both were a thing. And that was now. And now, Harry had absolutely no idea who Louis Tomlinson was anymore.

 

A lot can happen in fifteen years. Heck, Harry himself was not the same person he had been a year ago let alone fifteen. Louis wasn’t either. As much as he would love to – Harry didn’t know Louis Tomlinson anymore. And small talk could only go that far.

 

Harry’s reply was short and simple, but he knew it would be effective:

 

**“So. How’s Freddie?”**

_(17 May 2031)_

 

It was a safe territory – asking him about his son. His _son_. Shit. Louis Tomlinson was a father to at least one child, as far as Harry was concerned. Although Harry, more often than not, tried to pretend that it wasn’t true.

 

Back when Briana’s pregnancy and then Freddie’s birth were announced to the world Harry liked to entertain himself by going on Tumblr and reading all the speculations of their fans. Most of them made sense – God they made so much sense. Harry almost believed them. And even though Harry knew, he knew that the pregnancy was real, that the baby was real he still couldn’t help but wish they weren’t. He never really came to terms with it. Until now.

 

Fifteen years later, Harry had finally acknowledged the existence of Freddie Tomlinson.

 

Once again, his phone vibrated.

 

**_“Freddie is perfect. He’s reminding me more and more of myself every day – only smarter and funnier. God, H you’d have loved him!”_ **

_(17 May 2031)_

 

In a way, Harry went asking for it. He was the one who asked about Freddie in the first place, he should expect that Louis would talk so fondly of him. He knew how much Louis loved children, let alone his own child. Of course, he was proud of him. Of course, he loved him.

 

It was about time Harry had faced the music anyway; he was no longer Louis’. He hadn’t been his for a long time now. He was no longer his first priority or the only boy in his life – or the one he loved the most. No – Freddie was.

 

“God, H you’d have loved him,” Harry mumbled sarcastically. He could never love Louis’ son. No. Freddie was a big part as to why Harry wasn’t with Louis in the first place. He could never love someone who took the love of his life away. Never.

 

He quickly typed a response before tossing his phone to the other side of the double bed; not caring how sharp and - dare to say – hurt he sounded.

 

**_“Good. Anyway sorry to cut this short but I have a big day tomorrow.”_ **

_(17 May 2031)_

****

When his phone vibrated again, Harry ignored it.

 

                           --------------------------------------------------------------

 

_Saturday, 17 May 2031._

It had been a long time since Harry woke up, only to find a notification from Louis on his phone.

 

In fact, Harry was pretty sure that he had dreamt the previous night. But there on his phone was all the proof he had ever needed – he truly did have a civil conversation with Louis the previous night. And it was beautiful.

 

Harry had no time to open the message though. One minute he was stretching and yawning in bed and the other Jeff was rushing in his room screaming about how he had slept in and how if they didn’t get a move on they’d be more than fashionably late for his interview, while throwing clothes at him.

 

“Feisty,” Harry whistled as Jeff ushered him into the bathroom.

 

“You have thirty minutes to take a shower, get dressed and come downstairs to eat,” Jeff yelled from outside of the bathroom’s door “you slept ‘till five p.m. Harry! Who even does that?”

 

“You could have woken me up,” Harry hissed. Nevertheless he took one of the quickest showers he had ever taken, got dressed – black jeans, black sheer shirt and brown boots – and ate the pancakes that Glenne had prepare for him in under twenty-five minutes.

 

En route to the venue, it was obvious how stressed out Jeff was. “Don’t feel pressured to answer anything, H. If you feel uncomfortable just say the word and James will respect it and move on ok?”

 

“Jeff – relax. I’m pretty sure James won’t make me uncomfortable.”

 

“I know,” Jeff, said exasperatedly “that’s why we chose him. But just in case he does-”

 

“If he does, I’m gonna say that I’m not comfortable to answer that and we will move on,” Harry sighed “honestly Jeff. I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen, I’m media trained – I’ve got this. Don’t worry your pretty little mind.”

 

The older man glanced at him skeptically, “Okay if you say so. Just know that there’s no pressure here.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Good,” Jeff nodded “it won’t take too long. Twenty minutes the most. You should be out of there by seven thirty the latest. A car will be waiting for you outside from seven. It will take you to the airport – your flight is at quarter to ten. Don’t worry about your clothes I’ve personally sent most of them over to your house in Holmes Chapels from your house here in Cali about a month ago. Robin will be waiting for you at the airport in Manchester,” he took a breath “do you have your phone, your ticket and passport?”

 

“Yes I do,” Harry confirmed after checking his pockets. “But Jeff, I really don’t think me going back to Holmes Chapel is a good idea. Me and Robin are not on the best terms, anyway.”

 

“Nonsense. He sounded very happy to have you there. Just give them a chance H, ok? They are your family.” Harry chose not to answer as they pulled in front of James’ studio. Jeff hugged him tight. “Good luck H. You’ll be fine. Have a safe trip and text me when you land. I love you man. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon.”

 

Harry hugged him back just as tight, before pulling away. “See you soon, you sap. Thanks for everything.” He waved at Jeff, as he opened the door to the studio. He was immediately rushed in makeup as the show had already begun, not giving him a chance to find James and have a little catch up before the interview.

 

“And now ladies and gentleman, without further due,” Harry could almost hear James’ smile in his voice from where he stood, “let’s welcome my old friend, Harry Styles.”

 

Harry waved blindly at the audience as he made his way over to James. James wrapped his arms around him, hugging him even tighter than Jeff had not even an hour ago “I’m so sorry, H” he whispered in his ear, so low that the microphones couldn’t pick it up, as he rubbed his back. Harry could only nod.

 

They hugged for perhaps a minute too long for what would be considered appropriate. Harry went to pull away first, but James brought him in for another brief hug before letting go completely. “Sorry folks, this is emotional,” James said as he sat on his chair. “So Harry,” he smiled warmly at the younger man, “it’s good to have you back.”

 

“It’s good to be back James,” thankfully Harry’s voice came out steady “twenty thirty-one has been a tough year so far but I’m getting there.” The crowd erupted in cheers, and Harry threw them a thankful smile.

 

“I’m so sorry about Anne. We all heard – may she rest in peace. She was such a lovely woman and a friend. We are gonna miss her terribly.”

 

Harry coughed – a nervous habit of his that he had developed over the years. “Thank you. Losing my mum was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I was so close to her and,” he took a shaky breath “and I miss her terribly. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her, to be honest. She was my best friend but I believe she’s in a much better place now. And she finally found her peace you know, cancer is a terrible thing. At least,” he paused “at least she is not in pain anymore. But she was my mum, and mums are irreplaceable unfortunately. Everyone’s support has been amazing though.”

 

The crowd awed when he tried to smile but failed, his lower lip trembling slightly. He pinched the inside of thigh, easing himself not to cry, before looking up to James. James’ eyes were shiny with tears.

 

“You didn’t deal with it well, did you?”

 

“No,” Harry cleared his throat, “not at the beginning. I locked myself away. Didn’t talk to anyone for days. When she died a piece of me died as well, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.”

 

“Can you tell us what happened, H? Everyone wants to know. After Anne’s passing you disappeared and the next thing we know an official rep statement comes out saying how you’ve been admitted in Promises Treatment Center for drugs and alcohol rehabilitation,” James looked almost pained as he asked the question, clearly not wanting to put Harry in the awkward position.

 

“What I did was weak. It felt right at the time, turning to alcohol and drugs to forget. In reality, I was just running from my already existing problems and creating new ones. I promised myself I wouldn’t be that person who turns to alcohol and drugs for comfort. But after my mum’s death,” he winced at the word “I was so lost. I’m not trying to find excuses or blame it on someone else. I am the only one to be blamed – I was being weak and stupid. I kept blaming myself that I didn’t see the signs early enough, and then I started blaming my stepdad and sister for the same reason. Then I blamed the doctors and the nurses for not doing their job right. Mind you everyone was lovely and did the best they could. But my mind was clouded. I couldn’t think clearly. I just kept thinking how people had failed me, so I turned to alcohol and drugs instead.” Harry stopped so he could calm himself down a bit. Everyone around him was speechless. “It actually started when my mum was first diagnosed with cancer, but it got worse after she lost her battle with it. On my birthday – I don’t want to get into details – but on my birthday I overdosed,” Harry heard James muttering ‘Jesus Christ’ as the crowd gasped. “Yeah, I overdosed and if it wasn’t for my manager – Jeffrey Azoff I wouldn’t be here today. He found me and called for help.”

 

“Jesus Christ, lad” James said loudly this time, “did he make you get help afterwards as well?”

 

“Yes and no. He helped me open my eyes. But the final decision was my own. I didn’t – I just. I mean,” Harry shook his head “I knew my mum wouldn’t be proud of me. I don’t care how cheesy or cliché it sounds but I knew that if my mum was there she would be ashamed of me, of how I turned out so I had to try and change. For my mum’s shake.”

 

“I don’t think Anne could ever be ashamed of you Harry. You were her pride and joy.”

 

“Cheers James. It means a lot.”

 

“Of course, lad. Of course. But now you are feeling better?”

 

“I’m feeling a lot better. I’ve been clean for over three months now. Ah thank you!” he smiled at the crowd that cheered and clapped “and I’m not planning on changing that anytime soon.”

 

“Good for you, H,” James nodded “and of course, everyone was very proud of you. I mean everyone who is someone congratulated you on being strong and getting the help you needed. I imagine you haven’t been on Twitter yet?”

 

Harry’s eyes widen and he could feel himself turning paler than usual at the mention of Twitter. Surely, no one knew about his small exchange with Louis. How could they? “Um no,” he hesitantly replied.

 

“Well everyone who is someone wished you good luck! The likes of David Beckham, Angelina Jolie, Beyoncé and so many more people. Everyone was rooting for you! Even your old band mates – Liam Payne and Niall Horan – heck, even Zayn Malik tweeted you. I swear everyone was waiting for Louis Tomlinson to come back to Twitter after fifteen years and tweet you. They were all convinced all five of you were talking again and of course that led to One Direction reunion speculations.”

 

“Um no. I’m not bitter or mad or anything anymore. Fifteen – sixteen years is a long time to hold a grudge you know? But there will be no One Direction reunion in the future. At least don’t hold your breath – because if there is one no one told me so.”

 

“What about new music from you?”

 

Harry smiled – music was a safe territory to talk about. He could talk about it in his sleep. “Yes actually, I’m going back to the studio in September. I’m very excited about it. I can’t wait!”

 

“I’m sure you are Harry. You are so passionate about your music – it’s adorable really,” he grinned, “So are you taking a break till September?”

 

“Yes actually, I am. Don’t have anything planned for it though. I’m just gonna relax a bit, recharge my batteries and up my game and all that.”

 

“Well Harry lad, I hope you enjoy your little break and come back stronger than ever. Thanks for coming here today, man.”

 

“Thanks for having me James,” he shot the cameraman a dimpled smile, hugged James who wised him good luck with everything and told him not to be a stranger and with a final wave at the crowd he was off.

 

At quarter past seven, just five minutes after the end of the interview Harry found himself in the back of the car Jeff had rented for him, en route to the airport.

 

The interview had gone well – or at least as well as it could considering the circumstances. There were moments when Harry had lost his cool but he was only human. He didn’t think anyone could held him responsible over getting emotional when he was talking about his dead mother.

 

He checked his phone. The notification from Louis was still there – without a second thought he opened it.

 

**_“The truth is – I’ve missed you H. I’ve missed you so fucking much.”_ **

_(17 May 2031)_

****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifteen years after One Direction took an infinite break, Harry Styles is the fucked up, British version of Justin Timberlake and it’s been well over a decade since Louis Tomlinson was last seen.

_Sunday, 18 May 2031._

 

A younger self of Harry – one that was so dissimilar to today’s Harry that he may as well have been a different person altogether – used to detest flying.

 

There was something about being in that metal bird that frightened him. Maybe it was because he was terrified of heights, or maybe it was because he knew that once he was on board he was completely powerless – his life was in the hands of a stranger, an experienced one, but a stranger nonetheless. Perhaps though, it was him watching one too many airplane crush investigations on National Geographic, despite Robin’s and his mum’s warnings.

 

Harry didn’t quite know what it was that made him be so terrified of airplanes. Whatever it was though, it was long gone. Fast forward a few decades and Harry loves every single second that he is in the air.

 

Truthfully he hadn’t realized just how much he enjoyed it until Gillian from the Promises Treatment Center asked him once what his favourite place to be at was. Had it been thirty years ago, when Harry was just a little boy he would have said his mother’s arms. Had it been twenty years ago, seventeen-year-old Harry would have said Louis’ arms. At thirty-seven though, Harry’s reply was neither the former nor the latter. In fact, it was something entirely different.

 

“A plane,” he said without missing a beat.

 

His therapist had looked up at that, “a plane?” she wondered.

 

“Yes. A plane.”

 

“I see,” she nodded “and why is that?”

 

“It just is, Gi. It’s not that deep. Honestly. I just enjoy being in the air.” Gillian had stared at him for a few seconds too long. Harry could tell that she wasn’t buying it for a second, but she hadn’t pressed any further. She never even brought up that particular question ever again. Harry was thankful for that. He didn’t understand why he had blurted out what he had anyway; he wouldn’t be able to explain it.

 

About three months later though, as he was flying somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean en route to Manchester it had all been crystallised. Of course he loved planes. He loved how nothing really mattered when he was in the air. The houses seemed no bigger than matches boxes; the people were the size of ants; even the Great Wall of China seemed tiny from up there. When he was up in the air, looking out of that narrow window - all the things, all the people that hurt him seemed so small, so insignificant.

 

Up there, he was free.

 

He was free – and he finally had the peace and quiet he always wanted. There were no fans or paparazzi taking his picture every second. He didn’t have to put on an act for anyone. He could just be himself and enjoy a few – much deserved in his opinion anyway – peaceful moments of silence.

 

So yes, Harry was not scared anymore.

 

In all honesty, even if something did go wrong, even if there was a hijack or the engines were to stop working for one reason or another, and the plane was to crash – well Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care. In fact, anything that would postpone his inevitable meeting with Robin even just by a few seconds was dearly welcomed.

 

Sweet Jesus, halfway through the twelve hours flight and he was already dreading that damn meeting.

 

“Excuse me, Sir,” a hand tentatively touched his shoulder bringing him back to reality “your food is here”.

 

Harry looked up at the person who was starring down at him. She seemed old for an airhostess – that is - her makeup was done perfectly but the small wrinkles in the corner of her eyes and lips were obvious. Her blonde hair was placed into a tight bun and she was smiling so widely that Barbie would be jealous.

 

“I didn’t order any food,” Harry said impassively.

 

The woman seemed startled. “I,” she started before closing her mouth. Her upper teeth bit into the skin below her peachy coloured lower lip for a second too long. “That may be, Sir,” she breathed eventually “but food is included within the price of our premium class ticket.”

 

A dismissive “Right,” was all she got for a reply before Harry turned his head to look out of the window. It was pitch black but he didn’t mind a bit of darkness. Besides, he was in no mood to talk.

 

“What would you like then, Sir?”

 

Harry ignored her.

 

“Can I do anything else for you then, Sir? If I can, please let me-”

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake you silly c-” Harry caught himself seconds before the curse came out of his mouth. He took a deep breath, easing himself to calm down. “Listen. I don’t want your food. I don’t want your drinks. I don’t want anything. So just let me be, will you? The only thing I do need is bloody Wi-Fi and a ticket back to Los Angeles. Can you get me any of that? No? Then leave me the fuck alone. Jesus.”

 

She nodded sharply, her pointy chin getting well into the orange scarf that was wrapped around her neck, before pushing the tray with the food forward and away from Harry.

 

“Fucking airhostess,” he mumbled, “they don’t know when to stop. Always going up and down and nagging you.”

 

He was very much aware of the fact that what he did was wrong. He was even more aware of that fact that he was overreacting. His therapists from the centre had warned his about outbursts. Unexplained behaviour and sudden tantrums were to be expected. They told him not to worry, that Harry wouldn’t be to blame for it. That would be the drug withdrawal talking.

 

In his defense though, he was on his way to bloody Manchester of all places to meet up with his stepdad of all people. Last time he spoke to his stepdad was a few hours before his mum’s funeral. It ended up with Harry spitting on Robin, so saying they didn’t exactly part amicably would be a huge understatement.

 

To top it all off, he was travelling with perhaps the only airline that insisted on having no Wi-Fi on board. It was to encourage creativity and remind people that they could live for a few hours without Wi-Fi. In Harry’s opinion that was all complete and utter bullshit. It was just an excuse for the airline not to pay any extra money than what was necessary.

 

Normally, that would be fine. Normally, Harry could survive without Internet for days. Heck, he just spent the last few months of his life without even a phone or any other form of technology bar from the occasional computer that would only connect to his email account’s inbox.

 

But this time it was different. This time it was so much different, because his phone was right there and his message to Louis – _Louis_ – was all typed in but it hadn’t been sent. Mind you it wasn’t anything spectacular but it took Harry about three hours to finally come up with something that wouldn’t be way too embarrassing.

 

So Harry may have been a bit angry. And he may have let his anger out on that poor lady. But that was his Louis. Well maybe not his Louis, but it was Louis. Louis - whom he hadn’t spoken to for way too damn long. Louis, who for a very big portion of his life, was his everything.

 

Louis - whom he still cared for. God. He cared for him so much. More than he probably should have cared for someone who he hadn’t seen nor spoken to in way more than a decade.

 

Definitely more that he should have cared for someone who shattered his heart into a million pieces, stepped on them and turned them into trillion of pieces and then stole some for himself.

 

“Oi mate,” someone with a thick Yorkshire accent said from behind him. For a second Harry thought that it was _him_. “Oi mate,” the familiar accent was heard again. Harry turned around, glancing at the man through the gap between the chairs. He couldn’t help but exhale deeply at the sight.

 

Of course, it wasn’t him. The accent was familiar, yes. But the sound of the voice was too low – too wrong. The face was wrong too – the hair was too black, and the eyes were a shade or two lighter. It wasn’t Louis.

 

“Mate,” the man repeated for the third time. Harry raised his eyebrows to show that he was indeed listening. “I know you can probably buy and sell this plane more times than I can count but that doesn’t give you the right to be a twat. We all have our bad days, but she was only doing her job.”

 

Harry blinked at the man. He nodded once and turned back around.

 

The first thing he did after the plane landed was call Jeff, who called his travel agent, who called a friend who knew some people who worked for Thomas Cook airlines.

 

Within half an hour after the plane landed, two dozens of tulips, 3 boxes of Ferrero Rocher chocolates and a sorry card were on their way to Mrs. Isabella Johns – the beautiful airhostess from Harry Styles – the insufferable twat from the flight from Los Angeles to Manchester.

 

Harry hoped those were enough.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Meeting his stepdad was, for lack of a better word, interesting. Very interesting.

 

Robin was sitting on a chair right at the back of Terminal 3 arrival lounge of Manchester Airport. Harry spotted him right away. At sixty-five years of age, Robin Twist looked tired. He still had his beer belly and the hair of his moustache was still grey, exactly like it was when he was marrying Harry’s mum. But now he just seemed old. Watching the woman he loved slowly waste away and then eventually die after a prolonged and difficult battle with cancer had obviously taken its toll on him.

 

Even though they weren’t biologically related Harry had always thought of Robin as a fatherly figure. The old man had always been good-natured and kind-hearted. Those two attributes were what had made Harry love and accept him into his life from the get-go. From a very young age, he used to look up to him. And he made his mum happy – he made his mum smile and blush whereas his biological dad, Des, made his mum cry and shout – and for that Harry was grateful.

 

The man stood up as he saw Harry approaching from afar. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were filled with kindness. He patted Harry’s back as soon as the younger lad was within touching distance. “Welcome home lad.”

 

“Err. Cheers.”

 

As they made their way towards Robin’s car a heavy silence settled over them, thicker then the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Back in the day, the duo would never run out of conversation topics – be it about Rooney’s latest goal or David Cameron’s newest statement. But now Rooney has retired from football and Cameron hasn’t been a president since late 2010’s and Robin and Harry have literally nothing to talk about.

 

Not to mention, Harry was so ashamed of his antics from the last time he had seen his stepfather that he couldn’t quite meet the older man’s eyes. He couldn’t believe he had _spat_ on him. Okay, maybe it wasn’t directly on the older man’s face. But, if it wasn’t for Harry’s bad aim, that’s where it would have landed.

 

“Look Robin,” he started as soon as he got settled into the man’s BMW “I just wanted to apologise for what I did last time. I- I didn’t mean to. I was – I was just in a bad state of mind.”

 

Robin raised a hand to call a halt in his stepson’s rant, “No need to apologise to me, son. You know I’d never hold a grudge. Especially against you.” He took his eyes off the M6 highway to give Harry a quick glance; “I know you weren’t being you when you did what you did, anyway. Those things – drugs – they mess about with your brain lad. So don’t worry about it. No harm done.”

 

Harry was at a loss of words for a good few minutes. “Um. Um thanks Robin. Thank you, really. This means so much to me,” he took in a shaky breath “I know what I did was stupid. And I know you – both you and mum, if she was here that is – wouldn’t be proud of me. Of who I was. But I am better now. I’m doing so much better, I swear.”

 

“I know you are H, I know you are,” Robin changed gear and then placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s knee “and never, not even for a second think that I – or your mum – are not proud of you. Sure, I am not going to lie to you. I was disappointed when I found out you got checked in to rehab, but more so in myself rather than in you. I was so ashamed of myself, H. Because I bloody knew that there was something off in the way you were acting. Yet, I blamed it on grief. You doing heavy drugs never even crossed my mind. The night Jeff called me to tell me um to tell me what had happened. God, H. I felt like I lost the ground under my feet. I was so frightened.”

 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble either. I wish I could explain why I did it or I don’t know maybe blame it on something else. But it was just me being stupid. Literally. That’s the best excuse I can find. ”

 

“I just wish you would have come to me,” his stepdad squeezed his knee “I knew you were hurting. We all were. But I just wish I could have seen the signs earlier, you know. Had you…had you…you know. I would have never forgiven myself. Neither would Gemma.”

 

“Gemma. Right.”

 

“She was worried sick, Harry. Had it not been such a short notice, she would be on the first plane to New York.”

 

The younger lad hummed to show that he did indeed hear what his stepdad had said but other than that he kept his mouth shut.

 

He knew that both Robin and his mum hated the fact that he and Gemma weren’t speaking to each other. Their parents were always trying to come up with new plans to get them to start talking again. He remembered Anne’s face lighting up every time him and Gemma happened to bump into each other in her hospital room. The siblings would nod at each other in acknowledgment and Anne’s smile would get wider.

 

Harry, however, knew that it was all in vein.

 

His mum would always look at him with a knowing look after Gemma would leave the room. It was a look of triumph, just like she had just won a battle. Little did she know though, that she had already lost the war. The chances of Harry and Gemma being civil to each other again were slim to none.

 

Oddly enough, Harry was oh-kay with that.

 

Neither of the two men said anything else for the rest of the journey. But this time the silence between the two of them wasn’t awkward. In fact, it was so comfortable that if Harry closed his eyes and pretended hard enough it was almost like the car rides back home when he was still in Year 9 and Robin would pick him up from school.

 

The drive to Holmes Chapel from Manchester airport was a short one – only about half an hour to be precise. So before Harry knew it he was back at his childhood house. The house itself was the same as it had always been. Nothing had changed in its appearance. But there was something – there was someone – missing.

 

“It’s different without her,” Robin said like he could somehow read Harry’s mind “the house is oddly quiet nowadays. I try to keep myself busy, to be honest. But I don’t think I will ever get used to the quietness. I don’t think I could ever get used to missing her.”

 

Upon hearing those words, Harry released a broken sob. And then another one. And then another, until he was fully sobbing right in the middle of his childhood house’s living room. In two long strides, Robin was right next to him - like he had always been since Harry was a 10-year-old boy – wrapping him in his arms.

Harry didn’t know how long it he was stood there sobbing his heart out but the tears wouldn’t stop. “I miss her so fucking much, Robin,” he cried “I miss her more and more everyday. I just- I just want one more moment with her. I just want to tell her how much I miss her, how much I love her. I want to thank her for being the best mum she could possibly be and I just wanna tell her that I love her more than anything else in this world.”

 

Robin could only hug him tighter.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

_Friday, 6 June 2031_

 

Saying that Harry was bored would be the understatement of the century.

 

Over the past three weeks he’s done pretty much anything one could possibly do in Holmes Chapel. He had watched crappy TV reruns; he had mowed the grass for Robin, and did a bit of sunbathing in the back garden when the English weather would allow it. He’s even been to Barbara’s old bakery, W. Mandeville Ltd a couple of times. The sweet, old woman – Harry’s first (and best) boss - had been dead for a long, long time but the bakery was still run by her niece. Per Barbara’s request, Harry’s cutout was still standing by the entrance of the shop.

 

Had it been twenty or even ten years earlier, Harry would have visited his cousins or maybe even his friends from school. But now his cousins lived all over the country. And all of his schoolmates were married with children. Some of them were divorced but they still had jobs and children and more often than not a lover waiting for them in bed every night. Nevertheless they were all too busy for him.

 

Harry wasn’t particularly bothered. It wasn’t like he was terribly interested in catching up with people he hasn’t seen let alone spoken to in years. He was pretty much willing to meet up with anyone, though, as long as it meant he will get to go out of the house and talk to someone who is not Robin.

 

Besides, being a rich, famous person with a history of both drug and alcohol abuse and bored was a bad combination. In his defense, Harry hadn’t really had any urges to drink or do any sort of drug usage since the second month of his stay at the rehabilitation centre. But the temptation was always there. Sometimes its presence was strong and others it wasn’t. Harry was sure that as long as he kept himself busy, he would never act on his itches anyway. Hopefully.

 

He was deep in his thoughts, trying to decide what he could possibly do to entertain himself, when a voice startled him, “Alright, lad?”

 

“Hiya,” Harry greeted Robin good morning. “Do you want a brew?”

 

“Nah. No need. I’m quite late – was supposed to go to Knutsford today. Got a few meetings there. Needed to be up at Paul’s at ten to seven and now it’s um.”

 

“Five past,” Harry offered.

 

“Oh dear. Better hurry then – I am sure his missus will make me a cuppa.” Robin was halfway out of the back door when he slowly backtracked into the kitchen. “Listen, H, why don’t you get the train up to Manchester tonight? Or even Liverpool? It will do you good to get outside of old Holmes Chapel for a day.”

 

“I,” the younger man started, “Actually Robin I might just do that. I’m getting a bit bored of this routine anyway.”

 

“Sure. Go. Treat yourself for the day.”

 

“Will do, Robin. Have a nice day now.”

 

“You too, lad. You too.”

 

It only took Harry an hour to get himself dressed, out of the door and to the Holmes Chapel Railway Station. It did, however, take him a good half hour to decide where he wanted to go.

 

Manchester used to be his favourite city to go to when he was a teenager. Be it because it was so different to his small village or be it because it was the ‘in’ place to be back when he was still in year 10 – he just loved it. It was just so busy, so full of life. And he enjoyed the anonymity. He could go everywhere and anywhere he wanted within the big city and chances were he wouldn’t bump into anyone familiar. Whereas in Holmes Chapel, even his exes’ nan would know if he was to be late for tea.

 

Back in the day, Manchester’s enormity was a blessing. Nowadays, it seemed more like a cure. The more people in one place, the more likely he to get recognised by someone. And he didn’t want that. Sure, his fan base wasn’t made up solemnly by screaming teenagers, who enjoyed mobbing him and shoving their mobile phones or even boobs more often than note in his face, like it was when One Direction was still a thing. But still, an A list celebrity who would wander around a city of Manchester’s size alone without any security was just asking for trouble.

 

He decided to go with Liverpool. Liverpool was by no means a northern Holmes Chapel – heck it couldn’t even be considered small but it was smaller. Compared to Manchester, that is. The probability of him being found and chased about was still high but Harry was willing to take his chances if that meant not spending another day mopping around his childhood house.

 

En route to Crewe, where he was supposed to change trains to get into the one headed towards Liverpool Lime Street, Harry pulled out his phone. He went on Twitter and into his direct messages from verified accounts straight away. Like he has been doing for weeks now.

 

Louis still hadn’t replied.

 

With a sigh, Harry clicked on his private conversation with Louis, like that would somehow magically make the other lad type back a response. But no matter how many times he scrolled up to refresh it, no matter how many times he exited the app Louis would still not reply. The last messaged of the conversation was still from Harry:

 

**_I’ve missed you too Louis. Well, to be honest I’ve missed all of the lads._ **

**_(19 th May)_ **

****

Maybe he should have called him Lou instead of Louis. Or maybe he should have omitted the last part and just stuck to how he’s only missed the older boy- well man. Perhaps he should have just replied with a simple ‘same’.

 

There were so many maybes and ifs and perhaps that, Harry was slowly driving himself crazy with them. Louis silence was disappointing to say the least. They had only just started talking again after all. Harry wasn’t prepared for it to end so soon – to finish before it even began.

 

The next time he checked his phone he had already walked across Liverpool One three times, had spent a good while at Albert docks just staring at the waves and was sipping his smoothie at a cute little café he had found along the way. To Harry’s big surprise – Louis had replied. Two hours ago. Finally.

 

**_Hi. Sorry I took my sweet time to answer. Life’s been busy, busy, and busy._ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

**_Hey, how about we meet up?_ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

**_Since we’ve both missed each other, I mean._ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

 

From an outside looking in point of view, Harry must have looked quite comical. A famous, grown man gaping at his phone that was just a few mill centimeters away from his face with his eyes wide open for a good three minutes must have been quite the sight. No one could blame him though. Louis – bloody Louis Tomlinson – had asked him to meet up. To fucking g meet up. As in face to face.

 

Louis wanted to see him. Harry didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or churn. He was learning more towards the latter though.

 

 _Shit. Shit. Shit_.

 

What the fuck was he supposed to reply to that? His didn’t think his brain could form a literate sentence at the moment nor did he think his fingers could type anything that would be considered remotely legible.

 

Okay. He was just fine. He just needed to take a couple deep breaths to ease himself to relax. Inhale and exhale. In and out.

 

Louis was nothing more than an old mate wanting to catch up. So what if at some point of his life Harry knew exactly how Louis sounded first thing in the morning and how his face looked when he was cumming. It’s been years since then. Louis could have been happily married with four children for all Harry knew. He always wanted a big family anyway.

 

It was just a friendly meeting. What if Louis had been his everything once? That didn’t matter anymore. It shouldn’t matter.

 

****

**_Yeah. Let’s meet up._ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

 

He kept it short. Partly because he didn’t want to seem too eager but mainly because he didn’t trust himself to say more without risking to pour his heart out.

 

****

**_Sound! You are on a break aren’t you? That’s what you said on James’ show anyway!_ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

****

The reply came within a minute after Harry sent his message.

 

****

**_Yeah._ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

 

Maybe he was being a bit rude, Harry realized. Louis’ messages were always somewhat long but Harry’s were a bit on the shorter side.

****

****

**_Cool! Just hit me up next time you find yourself in good old England_ ** **_J_ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

****

 

Louis next message was a series of numbers – presumably his phone number. Harry saved it quickly only to realize that the string of numbers didn’t match with the one he already had saved on his phone under the name of ‘Lou’ with a blue emoji heart next to it.

 

**_I am_ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

**_In England I mean. I’ve been staying at my stepdad’s._ **

**_(6 th June)_ **

****

Two minutes later, Harry’s iPhone started ringing. The name that he saw on the screen made his heart skip a beat or two. Or maybe ten. Harry wasn’t quite sure.

 

Louis – the contact number he had saved not even ten minutes ago – was calling him.

 

Harry needed to react fast. He could let his phone fall in his smoothie. Or he could throw it on the wall. Or he could step on it – maybe that could work as well.

 

Instead, he answered.

 

“Hi,” the person on the other line swallowed “Hi, H. It’s Louis.”

 

Upon hearing Louis’ voice for the first time in fifteen years, Harry’s breath hitched. He still sounded the same as he did when he was twenty-four and Harry was twenty-two. God knows just how much Harry had missed this voice the past years. God and maybe his pillow.

 

“Harry?”

 

“Hi. I. Hi.”

 

“Hello.”

 

“Hiya.” Louis chuckled. It sounded like music in Harry’s ears. “How did you get my number?”

 

“It’s the same as it’s always been innit? I figured it would be easier to talk instead of you know – texting.” There was a pause. Then a breath. “I hope that’s okay.”

 

“It’s um fine.

 

“Are you sure? I could call you back later if this is a bad time.”

 

“No,” Harry blurted out “no. I mean now is as good time as any!”

 

“Good. I’m not gonna keep you for long anyway need to make dinner for the family and all that.”

 

The family. Of course he had a family. Just because Harry didn’t have one of his own didn’t mean that Louis didn’t either. He had Freddie after all. And probably a wife, as well. Or a husband for all Harry knew. And quite possibly - half a dozen more children. Right. “Right,” Harry repeated into the phone. “Do you um, do you cook?”

 

“Surprisingly, yeah. I had to learn – couldn’t really live off ready meals for all my life could I?”

 

“I suppose no.”

 

“So you are in England then,” it wasn’t a question.

 

“Yes. I’ve been here for about three weeks now. Are you?” Harry licked his lips “in England I mean.”

 

“Yeah, yeah I am. I live here, actually.”

 

“Oh okay.”

 

“Um anyway. When are you free?” Louis asked after a long pause.

 

“Whenever. To be honest, I don’t really have any plans or anything for the rest of the summer,” the younger man admitted.

 

“Is tomorrow good then?”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

 

“Yes.” _No_ “Tomorrow is fine.” _Tomorrow is too soon. Way too fucking soon._

“Perfect then,” Louis’ voice had gone softer “I’ll be in Manchester tomorrow anyway. Have some um things to do in the morning. But I’ll be free all afternoon. We can go for a drink or two in a pub?”

 

“Erm, no.”

 

“No?” If Harry didn’t know any better he would say that Louis sounded a bit disappointed. But Harry did know better. Louis couldn’t be disappointed. Why would he be anyway? To him, this was just a meeting between two old mates to catch up. Nothing less. Nothing more.

 

Louis had moved on, for fuck’s sake. Louis has a family now. Harry is the only one living in the past.

 

“Harry? Is Manchester not good? Or are you busy?”

 

“Sorry. No. Erm,” Harry took a deep breath “Manchester is good, perfect even. I just can’t um I just can’t go to a pub? Well I suppose I could. Like it’s not like I’m not allowed to go to a pub. I just can’t drink? Because I am um you know. Because of what happened. I can’t drink anymore. Sorry. We can still go to a pub if you want to. I’m just not gonna drink.”

 

“Hey, H breath. Sorry I forgot about that. We aren’t going to a pub,” Louis said with finality “we’re definitely not going to a pub.”

 

“Are you sure? Because if you want to we can! I’m just going to have a non-alcoholic drink and you can have a pint. Or whatever you want to have. I don’t mind.”

 

“No, Harry. We aren’t going to a pub. We can go to a restaurant though. Have a tea or something? At about 8ish?”

 

“Yea, yea. That I can do. Where?”

 

“Hm. Not somewhere fancy. I don’t fancy getting photographed with you Mr. Superstar.”

 

“Oh okay.”

 

“You know what I actually know a very cute place. It’s not posh and doesn’t really have any stars but the food is excellent. And it’s quiet. I’ve been going there for a few years now so no one will bother us.”

 

“Wicked. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

 

“Um I can pick you up? If you want to? It’s just that I am driving down to Manchester with my car so I could come to the train station and pick you up? I can’t really explain how to get to the restaurant anyway.”

 

“Sure. I’ll be at Manchester Piccadilly. I’ll text you right before I get the train from Holmes Chapel.” Harry didn’t point out that it was two thousand and thirty-one and he could very likely find his way around if Louis could give him the place’s address.

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“Um okay then.”

 

“Yea, okay.”

 

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“You will. Yes.”

 

“Bye then.”

 

“Bye now. Oh and Harry?” Louis paused for a minute, making sure that the younger man was still on the other line before saying “it was so good talking to you again.”

 

“Um yes.” Harry said stupidly and hanged up.

 

Jesus Christ. Harry let out a breath that he definitely knew that he had been holding. If that wasn’t the most awkward conversation Harry had ever had he didn’t know what was.

 

Harry was absolutely and utterly fucked. And not in the good way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it took me so long to upload but I've been so busy lately. 
> 
> This is a work of pure fiction, I do not know One Direction or any of the people mentioned personally and I am therefore in no position to know how they would react.
> 
> Anyway lovelies, enjoy! And thank you for putting up with poor old me. 
> 
> Please feel free to comment/give kudos or bookmark this fic if you like it :) 
> 
> See you soon


	3. Chapter 3

_Saturday, 7 th of June 2031. _

 

Hard as he tried, Harry could not sleep a wink that night.

 

Nothing seemed to ease his body into the calmed, relaxed state required to fall asleep. He listened to soothing music, did a bit of yoga before bed and counted sheep in his head. But, to no avail. Not even the 4-7-8 breathing exercise seemed to work. No offence to the man – and all his fancy Harvard degrees – that came up with it. So, he tossed and turned restlessly all night. He kicked off and pulled back up his duvet a couple of hundred times, and went for a wee so many times that he managed to dehydrate himself.

 

Every so often he would check the time on his phone. He wished he could stop it, he wished he could buy himself more time, he even tried to picture the hands of the clock on the wall going backwards, but it didn’t work, as much as he willed it. Time passed by, and it passed by fast. Way too fast.

 

When sleep finally came in the very late hours of early morning, it was short and unsettling rather than long and sweet. If anything, sleeping left Harry more exhausted and tensed than he was before. He’s had enough of bad night sleeps to know how much of a struggle the morning after was, anyway. He could already feel his whole body aching, and he was almost certain that the black bags under his eyes growing bigger by the second. His back felt sore whenever he inhaled deeply, and when he exhaled, the breaths came out shaky.

 

Good Lord, he was a mess and the sun wasn’t even up yet.

 

He didn’t even know how long he was lying awake for but before he knew it he could sense the unusually warm English sun’s rays through his bedroom’s window. And that’s when he knew that tomorrow came all too soon. When his nine a.m. alarm went off his left hand shot straight to stop it, like it had a mind of his own. He didn’t dare getting up though, foolishly thinking that he could avoid whatever the day had in store for him if he stayed in bed. As if.

 

It was not long before he was lost in his own little world, stuck inside his head, trying to play out all the different ways the evening could go. Most, if not all, of them ended up with him back in his bed crying his eyes out and wishing he could turn back time and change the past. Go back to a time, where things were simpler and seeing Louis made him happy and excited rather than anxious and stressed.

 

Harry would give up everything, would sell his soul to Lucifer himself, just to live in a reality in which he and Louis were together and their love was enough to fight off everything – the nasty music business, the closeting, the rumours, the temptation. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for him and his love to had been enough for Louis.

 

And that’s how Robin found him, off in his own world, a few hours later. Long limbs were splayed out across the bed, one leg and his groin under the duvet, the other leg above it. One hand was playing absentmindedly with the hair on his navel; the left one was under his head. Harry’s wide-opened eyes didn’t follow Robin as he walked closer to the bed; instead they were fixed on the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time; the older man caught himself worrying about the sanity and state of mind of the younger one.

 

“Harry,” he tried but there was no movement. Robin’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Harry”, he repeated a bit louder than before. No response. The man let out a long sigh, as he proceeded to bend and extended out an arm to reach Harry. There was a dull throbbing in his arm as he stretched it out – his limbs and joints weren’t quite as they used to be at sixty-four years of age.

 

As soon as his cold hand came into contact with Harry’s warm shoulder, the younger man jolted up, alarmed. He frantically looked around him, slightly confused from being startled back into reality. When his eyes settled on his stepdad, he visibly relaxed, and let himself fall back onto the soft pillow.

 

“Jesus Christ,” he put both of his hands on his face and pulled down his cheeks “Robin, you scared the crap out of me.”

 

“Sorry, lad, I didn’t mean to,” Robin pursued his lips “I was getting a bit worried about you – you never normally sleep in so late.”

 

Harry scrunched up his nose, “late?”

 

“Just turned two, son.”

 

“Oh, shit”. Harry sat up on his bed, slightly moving the duvet so he could still protect his dignity, and adding a pillow above it just for good measure. Not that Robin hadn’t seen everything before, but Harry was sure he wouldn’t mind not seeing them all again. Or ever, mind you. “Why would you let me lie in for so long?”

 

“Figured you were just trying to get out of helping me clean up before the barbeque tomorrow,” Robin laughed, “plus you seemed a bit stressed last night, thought you needed a bit of a lie in.”

 

“Promise, I wasn’t.”

 

“Sure you weren’t, Haz. Now, why don’t you get yourself dressed and come downstairs. I’m gonna make some scrabbled eggs and beans for us and you can tell me why you were calling yourself a different version of wanker every single time you went to the loo last time.”

 

“What? I, I wasn’t -”

 

“Ah save it lad. I might be all grey and old now, and my hearing might not be quite the same anymore but I am no fool. Come on, now. Get ready.” Robin took one look at the man in the bed, glanced into his green eyes that were once full of life and happiness but were now filled with pain and emptiness, and he couldn’t help but feel for him. He hoped, prayed even, that twitch of mischief will find its way back into his stepson’s eyes with time. “Do you remember what your mum used to say?”

 

“Yea, I remember,” Harry hesitated, “But I mean, she used to say a lot of things.”

 

“Right you are,” he agreed with a fond chuckle “she was a proper talking box wasn’t she? A wise one as well. But when you, and Gems were younger she always used to say one thing whenever you were upset.” He stood up. “There’s nothing that a cuppa and a good old English breakfast –or brunch in this case – can’t fix,” he took a deep breath in “and remember child, after every dawn there will always be-”

 

“Sunshine,” Harry filled in.

 

Robin squeezed his forearm reassuringly; “I know she’s no longer with us, Harry. And trust me, I know you’re no longer five and your troubles are far bigger than you being chosen last in P.E. But whatever’s kept you up last night, I am sure we can get to the bottom of it.”

 

With that, and a final squeeze, Robin left the room. Harry could feel his eyes starting to get wet, but he wouldn’t let the tears fall. Not today. With a sudden boost of energy, he jumped out of bed.

 

It was time to face the music.

 

 

 

Despite Robin’s best efforts, they did not manage to get to the bottom of the problem. He tried, bless him, but it was all in vain. In fact, Harry suspected that his stepdad thought that he had completely lost the plot once and for all, if those side looks he was giving him were anything to go by. At the end, the best advice he could offer him was to wait and see how the night goes. Time is supposed to be the best pain medicine, after all. And it’s been ages since he last saw Louis.

 

Harry wished for nothing more than for Robin to be right. But deep in his heart, he knew that when it came to time killing the pain, Louis and him were the exception. Or maybe that was just him. Harry couldn’t talk for Louis, of course, but he could talk for himself. And truth was, Harry would have taken a bullet for Louis in 2010 when they had their first kiss, he would have jumped in front of a train for Louis in 2015 when he cried himself to sleep after Louis told him he was going to be a father and he will do absolutely anything for the blue eyed man, now, after not having seen him for years. Harry might be a fool, but at least he is an honest fool. With himself, anyway.

 

The whole train journey from Holmes Chapel to Manchester Piccadilly was spent in a state of panic and regret. Harry was perfectly aware that he was being stupid, he shouldn’t have agreed to it. There was a reason; Louis was in his past – well, his whole past – after all. There was a really, really good goddamned reason.

 

Truthfully it had taken Harry a long, long time to realize that he would never see Louis again, when One Direction took a, what was supposed to be, definite break. It took him even longer to accept it. Harry couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it sunk in that he would not been seeing Louis again. Maybe it was months, but most probably it was years afterwards. He never came to terms with it though. He was never ok with it. And perhaps, that’s why he agreed to a meeting.

 

Maybe he needed closure. And perhaps, this meeting would be it. It could be that he was getting the closure he so desperately needed a good fifteen years later. Probably not thought, nothing was that simple when it came to Louis and him. That much he knew.

 

He took a careful step off the train, ineffectively pulling up his signature, skinny black jeans – Harry liked to believe that he was the reason they were still in fashion after all these years. He had already zipped up the black hoodie he had worn above his navy blue shirt, and pulled the hood down while he was on the train, hoping it would be enough of a disguise so as not to get recognised.

 

Pressing the home button of his iPhone, he could see it was already ten past eight. He grimaced to himself. He was supposed to get the train for quarter to eight, but he had chickened out in the last minute, telling himself that fifteen minutes was too much time to wait, while standing still in such a busy place without getting recognised. The risk was too high. So he opted for the later train and spent the whole journey worrying himself silly that Louis would show up, not find him there and drive off to God knows where again. The thought of having to deal with not seeing Louis ever again, made him feel a little bit sick.

 

Evidently, Harry himself wasn’t even sure what he wanted. He hadn’t quite made up his mind whether or not he wanted to see Louis. Of course he wanted to, he really, really wanted to. But then again he didn’t want to, he really, really didn’t want to. His brain was just a mess. He, himself, was just a hot mess.

 

The buzzing of his phone shocked him out of his thoughts.

 

**Hey, sorry I’m late! Traffic was horrible! Will be pulling up to the front entrance in about two minutes. I’m in the black Range Rover** **J**

With every word of Louis message that Harry read, his heart felt like it would explode.

 

 _Shit_ , he thought to himself, _I am about to meet Louis for the first in forever. I am about to see him again. Oh fucking hell, I am just about to see Louis after a decade and a half. What the fuck, was I thinking._

Panicking, Harry turned himself around ready to board the train to go back home. Or well wherever the train he was about to get into would go. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t meet up with Louis. It was too much, too soon. He wasn’t prepared for it. He didn’t think he would ever be ready for it.

 

As if on cue, his phone buzzed again.

 

**I’m here, where are you?** **J**

 

And again.

 

**You’ve not stood me up have you mate?**

_Fuck it. He didn’t want to see Louis,_ he realized _, he needed to see Louis._

Harry was running, before he even finished reading the last text. He was running through the Manchester Piccadilly station like a maniac, stepping onto men and knocking over a woman’s bag and shouting out apologies in every direction, hoping they would understand. He didn’t even care when he bumped into the metallic edge of the exit barrier, even though he knew he’d be left with a nasty bruise on his thigh.

 

It was like he had entered an autopilot mode. And he was done being scared.

 

 

 

The moment Harry Styles stared into Louis Tomlinson’s eyes for the first time in fifteen years, nothing happened. Time didn’t stand still, the Earth didn’t stop turning on its axis, and no fireworks went off. Absolutely nothing happened. _Nada._ In fact, those two seconds he spent looking into the other man’s eyes were the shortest two seconds of his life.

 

Before Harry processed that, _shit_ this is _Louis_ he’s sitting next to, and that _shit_ he is in _Louis_ ’ car, they were moving. In fact, Louis pressed gas so suddenly that it earned them a couple of annoyed honks from the other drivers behind them. The car came to a halt again, as Louis let the other drivers overpass them. None of the men commented on it, although Harry knew that if it was two decades ago, Louis would tell them were to shove it and give them the finger just for good measure. Whether or not it had annoyed this Louis though, Harry was not quite sure, as the older man didn’t even flinch. He just kept his expression neutral, his face giving nothing away. It was odd.

 

Inhaling deeply, Harry tried not to dwell on how he didn’t really know Louis at all. Yeah, this was Louis and, for Harry, Louis had been everything and even more once. For almost five years, Louis had been _his Louis._ But not anymore, Harry concluded. This Louis was nothing but a stranger. A stranger he has memories with, but a stranger nevertheless.

 

Harry griped the edge of the passenger’s seat, moving himself upwards a bit. The tension was so thick; he could cut through it with a knife. He felt sick. Not knowing what to do, or how to act, he chose to stare straight ahead, not a pip left his mouth.

 

After what felt like hours, but it was probably just a couple of minutes, the car started moving again. Harry hurried fastening his seatbelt, when the passenger seatbelt warning chime went off and it seemed like a bit of noise was all it took to break the uncomfortable silence.

 

“Hi.” Quite comically, Harry whipped his head so fast towards the source of the voice – towards Louis - that there was a bit of ringing in his ears.

 

Louis’ voice was different than he remembered yet the same. Harry couldn’t quite put it into words, how it sounded like. He had always thought Louis’ voice was like melted chocolate, just because it was so soft and sweet but now, now it sounded more like salted caramel – still smooth, still sweet but with a hint of grit.

 

“Hello,” Harry managed to say finally, hoping he didn’t leave Louis hanging for too long. He tends to do that after he’s come back from rehab. According to Robin, anyway.

 

“Thought you stood me up for a minute there,” Louis’ eyes never left the road.

 

“Um, no” Harry mumbled “no I’m sorry. I just missed the train I was supposed to get, and the next one came a bit later than planned.”

 

“Oh that’s alright then. I mean you know I hate being stood up.”

 

 _Do I now_ , Harry wanted to say but didn’t dare to, _I knew you used to hate it. But do you still._ Instead he settled onto, “yea, no. I’m sorry again.”

 

A nod was all he got back as a reply. “So train, eh? Didn’t peg you as the public transport kind, to be honest with you mate. Thought you’ll be driving in your brand new Audi or something.”

 

Harry gulped loudly, and mumbled lowly under his breath.

 

“What was that, sorry?” The older man side eyed him quickly before averting his eyes towards the road ahead.

 

“I said,” he coughed “I don’t have a driving license.”

 

“What happened to it? Left it back in Cali, did you? Figured Robin would be your chauffer, here?”

 

Frowning, Harry glanced at Louis. The lighting was dimmed inside the car, not allowing him to take in the blue-eyed man’s expression. He could barely make out the faintest sign of a smile. Louis was joking. He must have been joking.

 

“It got revoked actually,” he didn’t mean to, but his tone was sharp.

 

“Shit, what?”

 

“That usually happens when you get into rehab for alcohol and substance misuse, Louis. I’ve not been cleaned for six months yet, can’t reapply for one even if I trusted myself enough to do so.”

 

Louis muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘fuck me’, before letting his head collapse onto the stirring wheel. He banged it once onto the hard surface, and then twice, only stopping when he beeped the horn accidently making a few pedestrians walking down the quiet street, jump.

 

“I am really sorry, H. Shit,” he cleared his throat “I say things, partly because I like listening to my own voice, but mostly because I don’t want this to be uncomfortable for you but then I forget about the consequences and-” he cut himself off, realizing that he was rambling “ I guess what I am trying to say is that I have no brain-to-mouth filter, but it’s not my intention to upset you.”

 

“It’s fine, Louis. Really.”

 

“But it’s not. I don’t want to make you feel like shit or embarrass you or anything. I just want to try and be mates and I am sorry if I suck at it.”

 

“Louis, it’s oka-”

 

“I just say stupid shit. But it’s meant to be harmless. It’s just that I don’t think sometimes. Well, most times actually.”

 

“Some things never change, do they?” And well Harry didn’t mean to say that out loud. It kinda slipped.

 

It seemed though, that this Louis was perfectly capable of biting his tongue. He gripped the wheel a bit tighter than before, and nodded his head a couple of times but didn’t say anything.

 

For the second time that night, a thick silence hung between them. Nothing was said, but volumes were understood. They drove on and on, none of them daring to speak up or even turn the radio on. Harry looked out of the window, seeing people walking and talking, seeing buildings that all blurred into one after a while and focused on anything but the person sitting next to him.

 

A hand rested on his knee, and he flinched away like he just got electrocuted Louis hesitated, his left hand hanging aimlessly in the air and Harry could count in the fingers of one hand how many times he’s seen the other man at a loss of words.

 

“We’re here,” Harry didn’t even notice they had stopped moving, “I am truly sorry for before, H. I meant what I said though; I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Not with me.”

 

“We’re fine, Louis. I promise.” And perhaps that was a lie. Maybe one of the biggest lies, Harry has ever told in years. They weren’t fine. They were far from it. Truth be told, Harry wasn’t even sure if they could ever be fine again.

 

Louis didn’t seem to see through the lie, “good,” he nodded.

 

“Good,” Harry repeated.

 

A minute passed. Then two. “Should we, um” Louis gestured outside with his hands.

 

“Yea, yea we should.”

 

It was going to be a long night.

 

 

Louis wasn’t lying when he said the restaurant was tiny. Harry was only in the entrance but he could already feel the heat coming from the kitchen. All of the six tables inside were so close to each other Harry wondered how the servers could walk around without knocking into them.

 

“It’s not much,” Louis said over his shoulder, “but it’s cozy and private.”

 

If it were any other day, or well, any other person, Harry would beg to different with the privacy, or the lack of it and whatsoever - It was out of pure luck that they were the only customers there, otherwise Harry was sure he would overhearing all of their conversations without intending to.

 

But this was Louis, and even as a teen and a young adult Harry more often than not always agreed with him. Plus, he was too focused on Louis’ actual figure than the words out of his mouth.

 

Middle age looked good on Louis. His profile was still as gorgeous as ever. He had a few laughing wrinkles around his eyes and lips, and a few grey hairs in his still caramel-coloured hair but his build was still the same. He still carried himself in the same confident way he always did. The blue jeans he chose to wear, made him bum look irresistible and Harry faintly wondered if it was still as firm as it was when they were younger.

 

Suddenly, Harry felt a bit self-conscious. He had always been self-aware, as anyone in his age would be. At sixteen years of age, he had blogs dedicated to him. He had girls and boys of all races and ages express their undying love to him. He was confident, all right. Not overly so, but just enough. At the same time though, Harry was perfectly aware that long-term abuse of drugs and alcohol could have their effects on people. Where he once he used to have a six-pack, he now had a small belly. He had a few wrinkles himself; perhaps more than Louis, and his hair were significantly shorter and less healthy than the last time Louis had seen him. Not to mention the black bags under his eyes and his hollowed out cheeks.

 

In a nutshell, Louis looked beautiful and Harry was just a mess. And if that didn’t sum up Harry’s entire life, he didn’t know what did.

 

“You coming, Harry?” Louis’ voice brought him back into the real world. A small, brunette lady in her late twenties dressed in simple black dress who was smiling knowingly at him had now joined them. There was nothing extraordinary about her, she was pretty at most, but there was something about her, perhaps it was her sweetness or maybe her aura that made Harry smile.

 

“Oh hello, I’m Harry,” he introduced himself while extending an arm out the lady. He hoped his smile was still as charming as it once had been. It had been a long time, that he’s met someone for the first time and actually made a good impression.

 

“Maria,” she said and politely shook his hand. She definitely knew who she was, Harry decided. She definitely knew, who they both were. Harry briefly wondered how Louis had managed to stay low-key for so long. Surely people recognised him, everywhere he went at the beginning. Perhaps, Harry would ask him at some point.

 

In his head, Harry counted that he had taken exactly six steps before Maria showed them to their table.

 

“How’s Darcy?” she asked Louis as Harry took off his coat. And oh-kay. Darcy. That was a new name. “And the family?”

 

“She’s alright, considering,” his eyes skipped over her and settled on Harry for a moment before going back to her.

 

Maria nodded, once and handed each of them a menu. “I’ll be back to take your orders shortly. Would you like anything to drink?” Considering the sudden change in the conversation, Harry was sure he had missed something.

 

“Just water for me.”

 

“I’ll have a cor-. Just a coke, love.”

 

“You can have a beer, Louis,” Harry said as soon as the woman left, “it won’t kill me. I want you to have fun.”

 

“I’ll be fine with a coke, Harry. Plus I need to drive up to Doncaster, anyway.”

 

“Doncaster, is that where you live?”

 

“A bit outside,” Louis confirmed, “couldn’t decide where else I wanted to live. I mean London was an option but I just couldn’t deal with how busy it was you know. Donny was convenient. Less hustle and bustle. And, all things considered I already had a life there – more or less anyway - so I didn’t need to start all over.”

 

“Oh that makes sense I sup-”

 

“Have you already decided what you want to order?” Maria interrupted them, settling their drinks down. Harry was sure; the restaurant was so small that she could see from the counter that they never even touched their menus. He chose not to comment on it.

 

“Could I have the ‘Diavola’ please love?”

 

“Not a risk taker, are you Louis,” and was that flirting Harry could hear in her voice, “and what about you Harry?”

 

“Um, I’ve not looked at the menu yet. What’s good?” his eyes never left Louis.

 

“Everything,” Louis winked at Maria “everything Maria and her family cook is excellent.” And sweet Lord was that Louis flirting back.

 

“Very helpful Lou. Thanks.” And perhaps it came out a tiny bit more sarcastically that Harry wanted it to, but nevertheless it made Louis look at him, his eyebrows scrunched together. Well, Harry would take whatever he was given.

 

“You like prawns, don’t you? So how about the ‘Gamberoni Risotto’.”

 

“Okay, I’ll have that then,” he told Maria who scribbled it down and left, a slight blush evident on her cheeks.

 

“Freddie always gets that and he loves it,” and okay Harry could live the rest of his life without knowing that, thank you very much.

 

“Right.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No need to apologise.”

 

Once again, Louis hesitated. “It seems like I have to. I feel like, me mentioning him, makes you a bit um, uncomfortable.”

 

“Well it doesn’t,” Harry, claimed a bit too fast.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Harry counted his heartbeats. He made it all the way up to forty-one before Louis spoke up again, “we’re doing it again. We’re being awkward.”

“Sorry I don’t mean to.”

 

“Neither do I,” Louis drummed his fingers on the table “I know I’ve said so before, but I am truly sorry about Anne. Can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

 

And there it was, the condolence statement that Harry had grew to detest. “Thank you,” he said in a robotic voice, “I appreciate it.” He bit his lower lip and slightly chewed on it before releasing it and slowly taking a sip from his water, “So is this what this meeting is about? You pitying me?”

 

“Whoa, whoa,” Louis raised his hands in the air, “steady there. I just felt it’s the right thing to do, offer my condolences and all. I’m not pitying you at all, so how about you stop attacking me, yeah.”

 

“Sorry,” his voice broke, “Sorry,” he repeated, “I’m not trying to attack you, I promise. Please don’t think that. It’s just not something I talk about, my mum being gone, unless I absolutely have to. So yeah, sorry if I came across as defensive or aggressive, I didn’t mean to it’s just a sensitive subject, you know.”

 

“Of course, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to say that you could if you wanted to.”

 

“Okay, that’s fine. Thank you.”

 

As if on cue, Maria came in with their orders.

 

“Thank you love, that smells delicious,” Louis smiled.

 

“Looks like it as well,” Harry, agreed.

 

“Only the best for the best, Lou,” Maria said gently, before squeezing Louis’ shoulder and walking away.

 

“Well someone seems to fancy you.”

 

Louis laughed. It sounded like harmony to Harry. Or a melody. A harmonized melody. “Who? Maria?” Another chuckle, “no way, mate. She’s practically a child, she’s closer to Freddie’s age rather than mine.”

 

“Age is just a number innit?”

 

Louis pursued his lips. “Could be. But considering Antonio – that’s her dad – is about five years older than me, I don’t think a relationship between me and his daughter would be appreciated.”

 

“Okay but age aside, would it be a possibility? You and her, I mean.”

 

The older man seemed to consider it. His tongue was poking slightly out of his mouth, and his eyebrows were furrowed – that was Louis’ thinking face since day one. Some things never change, indeed. And suddenly Louis’ expression changed to one of humor, his eyes shining with mischief. “Harold,” he paused “are you fishing?”

 

“No.”

 

“For someone who’s been media trained for more than half of his life, you sure do suck at lying. Always have.”

 

“Shut up,” Harry said although he was just denying the truth. He was perfectly aware of how horrific of a liar he was. If it wasn’t clear from the higher pitch of his voice, the blush of his cheeks and his inability to look the other person in the eyes were a dead giveaway.

 

It seemed like, for some reason Harry could not explain, Louis was finding the whole situation rather entertaining. “You definitely are fishing,” he shook his head, “but just to be clear even if she was interested, I wouldn’t be. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

 

“Because you’re already in one?”

 

Had he blinked, he would have missed it, but Harry’s bluntness seemed to have caught Louis off guard. It was just for a second, but Harry saw his blue eyes widen comically before managing to compose himself. “I,” he opened his mouth and then closed it again, reconsidering what he was about to say. “I guess you could say that,” he shrugged at the end.

 

“Oh. Okay,” Harry didn’t know why it affected him so much, but he literally felt his heart sink, the nasty kind of butterflies made his stomach turn. Louis had a son for crying out loud; he had mentioned his family more than a couple of times, heck even Maria mentioned his family.

 

Louis wasn’t Harry. He wasn’t still hanging up on a relationship that ended more than a decade ago. He had moved on. _He moved on even before they ended things_ , Harry reminded himself.

 

“Is she nice?”

 

“How do you know it’s a she?”

 

“Darcy, innit? Maria mentioned someone named Darcy. Not a common neutral gender name anymore.”

 

“Yes,” Louis took a deep breath in “yes, it’s Darcy. And she’s nice yeah. Maybe a bit too nice, to be honest. Certainly too good for a scum like me.”

 

It took all of Harry’s will power to stop him from saying something. How could Louis think that? How could Louis think he deserved anything less than the best? _Don’t put yourself down;_ he wanted to tell him, _if anything you’re too good for anyone_ “Good. You deserve nice,” he said instead. _Anyone would be lucky to have you._

Louis chuckled humorlessly but didn’t elaborate any further. “And what about you, then? Anyone special in your life?”

 

Harry snorted, “Have you not been keeping up with Daily Mail? I can’t settle for one person even if my life dependent on it.”

 

“I honestly can’t believe Daily Mail is a thing still. As if people still read that shit. As if the twats are still trying to sell the same old narrative about you.”

 

“No surprise, there. Especially after coming out, I seem to have slept with more than half of the legal population. The choice is endless you see – males, females if they’re breathing I’ve fucked them,” Harry’s voice was lace with sarcasm, and perhaps a hint of bitterness “There’s no one special in my life,” _there hasn’t been for a long time_ “so to be fair to them, they’re not that far from the truth.”

 

“I hope you don’t truly believe that.” Harry wasn’t quite sure if Louis was still able to see right through his tough boy mask, or he was just saying it just to say something.

 

_Why would anyone want me? I’m too fucked up. Broken beyond repair._

Instead, Harry smiled “I’m just kidding, don’t worry. Always good to focus on the humorous side of it, if there’s nothing I could do about it.”

“That’s true. You’ve wised,” Louis teased, with a smile. He had bought it. Harry didn’t know if he should be disappointed or not – Louis had always been able to see right through all of his bull. “So have you been seeing much of the boys?”

 

The boys. It was amazing how after all these years the boys were still Niall and Liam. Perhaps Zayn as well, Harry didn’t know if Louis still held a grudge. Oh god, how he’s missed the boys.

 

“Not really,” he admitted “I mean I used to see Zayn in award ceremonies, back when he was still releasing music. I can’t remember the last time I saw Liam, I think it was about a decade ago? Give or take a few years. He’s a producer now though, I think, decided to stay behind the scenes to focus more on his family. Or well, that’s what I heard anyway. And then Niall, um, I used to talk to him the most after the band took the break. But then we both got busy with different things – I had the music and my movies and I reckon he gave up on the music thing after releasing his first album and just focused on golf, didn’t he? Guess we grew apart.”

 

“Yeah, Niall has his very own golf agency now. He’s like the shit, in his field apparently. Always gave 1000% that boy, didn’t he?” Louis smiled “Liam is a producer, indeed. Mostly for smaller artists though – wanted to help the underdogs, bless him. Zayn’s into fashion now and art as well – his anxiety got the best of him. He tried everything after quitting the band, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t go through a whole show by himself. He’s happy though, and I mean that’s what everyone wants from life.”

 

Harry blinked once. Twice. Three times. He shook his head, “you kept in touch with them?”

 

“Mostly,” Louis tilted his head to the right, “Zayn I talked to a few times through the years. Never in person, though. Liam, I’m still the closest with, we meet up every couple of months. Freddie and Isla used to have play dates back when they were little. I started talking more to Niall after I got the invite to his and Barbara’s wedding, when was it? Maybe seven or eight years ago? We’re pretty close nowadays.”

 

Throughout his life, Harry had learnt to expect the unexpected. Heck, the most important things in his life had come as a pleasant surprise – getting through to the X Factor’s boot camp, being a member of the most successful band on Earth, becoming the first person under 25 to win a Grammy and an Academy Award in the same year, every single time he got nominated and won something however small or big. But never, not in a million years, did he think Louis would have kept in touch with everyone else bar him. Nor did he ever think that the boys – _his boys_ – would make a conscious decision to keep in touch with each other but not with him.

 

It stung. It hurt.

 

Deep down, he knew he was partly to be blamed. He didn’t try hard enough. He should have texted more, he should have gone to those birthday parties he was invited to. No wonder Niall didn’t invite him to his wedding, if he couldn’t show up to a birthday party. He was aware that after he and Louis broke up, after the band took a break he focused more on himself, and paid no attention to anyone else. He wanted to show Louis that he could be successful without him. And he did.

 

_But success is nothing if you have no one there to share it with._

 

“Oh that’s good. That’s great. Good to know everyone is well,” Harry said.

 

“Yea! They miss you, as well you know. Maybe next time we meet up, you can join us? Think the boys would love it!”

 

“Right. Because I am their favourite person, eh?”

 

“Harry,” Louis tried, “it’s been years. There’s no bad blood, I promise.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“No. Honestly. We all completely understand why you didn’t want the band to get back together. I know people were angry, and maybe some of us said things in those emails that we didn’t mean out of anger but no one is holding a grudge. Besides, had we all gone back to touring and rejoined our lives wouldn’t be the same as now and I don’t think Niall or Liam or me can imagine a different life than the one we’re living now. It worked out pretty well!”

 

If that wasn’t an irony, Harry didn’t know what was. Had he said yes, when they were contemplating whether or not to get back together as a band, had he not been bitter and selfish he would be living a complete different life. The idea didn’t sound too bad in his ears. He chose to blame it on karma. After all, what goes around comes back around. His selfish decision seemed to have turned out well for everyone but him. _Serves you right._

 

“Okay, yeah. I’m glad.” Deep breath in, deep breathe out. “So how’s your family? I mean Jay and the girls and Ernie,” he added hurriedly not really in the mood to hear about Louis’ perfect wife, and perfect family. It might have been egoistical but he was already feeling shitty enough as it was.

 

“Oh, they’re all well! Lottie and Fizzy are married with a couple of kids each. Daisy is actually expecting and is due in a couple of month’s time – she’s having twins can you believe it? Phoebe’s boyfriend is about to pop the question anyway now, I reckon. And Doris and Ernest have one more year of sixth form, before they’re off to uni! They want to be doctors, bless them! Got the brains for it as well! As for mum and Dan, well mum is having a crisis because all of her babies have grown now but I think Dan is kinda looking forward to finally having his wife and a house to himself!” Harry had missed the way Louis’ whole face lit up whenever he was talking about his siblings.

 

“Oh Jesus. They’re all grown up, eh? Must mean we’re getting old if Daisy is about to have children! Can’t actually believe it – where has the time gone?”

 

“Tell me about it! Seems like I was just changing their nappies yesterday and now they’re about to be changing their own children’s ones. We’re gonna be grandpas, before we even know it, dear Harold!”

 

“Well I don’t have any children, so won’t ever have to worry about someone calling me granddad. But yeah, your time is coming soon my friend.”

 

“Do you want any though? Children, I mean.”

 

Harry shrugged, “maybe”. Truthfully, he was willingly to give away his kidney, perhaps his right leg and arm as well for a baby to call his own. Had been since he was about eighteen. But sometimes life doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to and it seems like having children was not in the books for Harry.

 

“Anyway,” Louis sing-sang as if he sensed that the green eye man was getting upset how’s An- shit how’s Robin and Gemma?”

 

“Robin is doing ok, I mean considering everything.”

 

“I can’t even imagine. He loved your mum. Used to look at her like she had hung the moon in the sky.” Harry gave him a shaky smile, “and how’s Gemma?”

 

“I am not quite sure to be honest with you. She’s got a husband and two kids, they all live in London now. But that’s as much as I know.”

 

“I-what?”

 

“We had a fallout a while ago. We don’t really talk anymore.”

 

“Why?”

 

 _Because I fuck everything up._ He bit his tongue, “I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s been a while, so.”

 

“Right. Right. Sorry for being nosy. It’s just that you and Gemma, you guys used to be inseparable; there was so much love between you. I just never thought-”

 

“Well people change Louis.”

 

“I’m really sorry.” Louis reached out, and gently touched his hands. It was then that time stood still, it was then that Harry’s heart went into overdrive, “I’ve missed you.”

 

And it was right there and then when Harry realised that he was so not over Louis Tomlinson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii long time no see. Sorry about that, hope you enjoyed the chapter...if anyone's still reading this, that is!


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